


You & I In Unison

by waywardbird



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Death, Letters, Love, M/M, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-07
Updated: 2013-03-07
Packaged: 2017-12-04 12:54:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/710994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waywardbird/pseuds/waywardbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And now you won’t ever know.<br/>And you won’t ever see.<br/>How much your ghost since then, has been defining me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You & I In Unison

**Author's Note:**

> When I was listening to the title song, some of the lyrics really stuck with me. So much that I decided to write something based around them.  
> This is what happened.

Dear Dean,

I’m not really certain what I’m supposed to say here. Sam told me that writing this would help, but it seems like as soon as I put pen to paper, all the words and paragraphs and pages I’ve been writing to you in my head just fly away, and all I’m left with is this heavy feeling in my chest.

You’ve been gone for three and a half years, Dean. That’s one thousand, two hundred and seventy-seven days.

Upon meeting you for the first time, (after I had reconstructed the shattered fragments of your soul, that is), I stumbled upon a realization:

I would never want to live without you.

Upon watching your cold body go up in twists of flame (the customary funeral for hunters), I was punched in the stomach with another:

Whether I wanted to or not, I now had to. 

You’ve been gone for three and a half years, Dean. That’s one thousand, two hundred and seventy-seven days.

Sam said that writing this would help, but I still don’t know how to not think about you.

Not just your eyes or your laugh or any of those things that you humans tend to ramble on about,  
(Though I must admit, those things cross my mind as well.)

But that sad sort of half-smile you always wore when you looked at that faded picture of your mother, the one that you always kept in the deepest pocket of your wallet.

Or that proud gleam in your eye when I remarked that your father had beautiful handwriting, although he was never particularly kind to you.

That old blue towel you kept in the trunk of the Impala, to spread over the seat any time you and Sam came back from a particularly bloody hunt.

Or the way that you sang, all loud and careless and faux-awful when Metallica blared over the radio on the long, tedious roadtrips, but soft and low and soulful while you packed up your things for the next hunt, and thought everyone else was out of earshot.

Or what the look on your face might’ve been had I ever had the courage to tell you how much I loved you.

I like to think that you knew, though.

Sam says that you did, but Sam says a lot of things, and I think a lot of them might just be meant to try and make all this hurt less.

He says you knew how much I loved you, but I’m not sure.

He also says that you weren’t in too much pain in the moments before you left this life for good, but the knife in your chest looked cruel and jagged and sharp, and there was so much blood that I almost thought I could’ve drowned in it. 

And now sometimes I wish I had.

Because you’ve been dead for three and a half years, Dean. That’s one thousand, two hundred and seventy-seven days.

And even though I’ll never know what the look on your face might’ve been, I still wanted you to know.

Sometimes my mind tricks me, and makes me think you’re still here. Sometimes, I’ll catch a flash of green eyes in the rearview mirror of the Impala. The smell of that old, battle-scarred leather coat. A low, husky voice humming in the next room over.

But the truth is, you aren’t ever there. 

And you won’t ever be.

Sometimes I think I shouldn't be either, and question what I should do.

Because it’s been one thousand, two hundred and seventy-seven days, Dean.

And every single one of them

Still seems to start and end with you.


End file.
